


What If This Was All Different?

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, Multi, TW: Blood mention, TW: Suicide Mention, and it's really confusing but i think it gets better to understand, so it probably sucks sorry, this is my first fic, tw: self harm mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6011127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the bands formed differently? What if Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance and such had never existed because they never came about? What if the people had met each other differently? What if the bands made weren’t what we expected?</p><p>Disclaimer: This is fiction, never happened. I don’t know them in real life. Also, I’m no music producer so I have no idea how this works, but studio stuff is based on many, many videos of people in-studio, and live show is based on lots of descriptions/videos of live shows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings Are Things And They Aren't That Interesting

Patrick POV

My sticks are in my bag, which is on the passenger seat in my (mom’s) car. I’m mentally cursing myself out because I’m gonna be late. Technically, Dallon lives over state lines, so it takes a bit to get to his place, where there’s a band meeting. I love being in the band and those guys are my best friends, but I swear to god I hate driving there. And being the farthest away, I’m the one who is forced to drive because, honestly, it’s convenient.

I turn onto Dallon’s street and pull into the driveway. I’m muttering the word shit over and over again. At least one of them is going to be pissed, and my money’s on Brendon. He’s the human form of a puppy, yet he has a very short patience, especially with me because he doesn’t know me as well. I open the door to the house and drop my stuff on the pile, digging my sticks out. And, just as I thought, Brendon shoots me a dirty look.

“Oh, screw off Brendon,” I say automatically, sitting down next to him on the floor. He rolls his eyes but says nothing more. I turn my attention to Dallon, who looks like he wants to say something.

Dallon’s been my best friend for years. We went to some music camp together a while back and just kinda kept in touch. And once he could drive we started hanging out together because while it’s a different state, it’s only about 45 minutes between our houses. Though that’s going to change, since Dallon’s already graduated high school and I’m on my last year. I don’t even know if the band’s going to stay together. I’d like it too, but I strive to be realistic. I’m just gonna go to college and probably end up a songwriter or something. Dallon’s gonna figure something out, and Brendon still has a year. He can still do whatever he wants to. This band’s not gonna survive, but I think we’ll still hang out and maybe make some noise sometimes but it’s never gonna be something like, I don’t know, Green Day or whatever.

“So, I kinda did something that may or may not be really stupid,” Dallon starts, rubbing his arm up and down.

“What?”

“Well, my sister’s boyfriend has a studio that he co-owns with someone and I convinced him to let me have used to it? So, um, we have access to a studio and we have enough songs that we could do something like, record an EP? Or at least a demo? Maybe try to make this band like a success?” Both Brendon and I gape. Really? This is really happening? “Okay, I get it, this was a stupid idea, I’ll just pretend that nothing happened.”

“What?! No, we should totally do this,” Brendon chimes in immediately. I nod in agreement, despite my own position that this band isn’t going to last. This is our one, slim chance, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t take it.

“You guys really think so?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “This could be our one chance, right? Why not just do it for the hell of it?” Brendon looks like he’s in agreement.

“Okay, why not?” Dallon says after a bit. Then there’s another bit of silence. “Wait, what about an engineer or something? Like I have no idea how to work that stuff.”

“I obviously don’t either,” Brendon says. “Patrick?”

I shake my head, but I’m more preoccupied with why I’m thinking about a bookstore. Then it smacks me in the face.

“Oh my god I’m an idiot!” I shout out.

“Okay, I don’t exactly disagree with you on that,” Brendon starts, “but what the hell?”

“Joe Trohman. Bookstore. Right.”

“Okay, still not making any sense. Who’s Joe Trohman and what do they and bookstores have to do with getting someone who knows how to do music production?”

“He’s this guy I met in a bookstore and he’s an amateur music producer.”

“Do you have his number?” Dallon asks.

“Uh, yeah, somewhere.”

“Do you think he’d do it?”

“I think Joe’d jump on any producing gig he can get.”

“Then I’ll leave the arrangements up to you.”

Joe POV

My phone’s ringing right when I’m in the door. Good timing I guess. I pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey Joe, it’s Patrick.” Right Patrick. Bookstore guy. Don’t know why I always call him that. Haven’t heard from him in a while.

“Hey dude, what’s up?” I knot one hand in my curly mop I call hair, leaning back against the kitchen counter. My parents are out on some outing and won’t be back for a little bit. And by a little bit I mean like a week. I don’t really remember the specifics.

“So I may or may not have just landed you an engineering gig.” I perk up at this. Like I literally stand up straighter.

“Dude seriously?”

“Seriously.” I switch ears with the phone.

“So, who’s it for? Where? When? Details?”

“It’s for my band, at a studio I’ve never heard of, but Dallon says it’s a pretty good place, um, and we’re hoping for mostly this week and next. We wanna get this EP done and fast.” I shrink a little. It’s just for Patrick’s band. I mean, I’m still gonna jump on this, but I don’t even know how good this is. However, my excitement outweighs my disappointment.

“Nice! So, when do we start?”

 

This Dallon guy doesn’t lie apparently. It’s a small space. Not as small as the one at school that I’m used to, but small. And the board is definitely a lot better than the one at school. There’s the booth that’s got microphones and studio amps and stuff like that. Out here there’s a few rolly chairs and a couch and like a table or something. I drop my bag under the board table and start fiddling with stuff, seeing what everything does. I’m the only one here, but I came early on purpose. I want to actually be okay at pretending to know what I’m doing before the people I’m supposed to act like I know what I’m doing while I’m around them show up. It’s a good 30-45 minutes before anything disturbs my fiddling.

The door opens behind me and I swivel around. It’s Patrick, drumsticks sticking up out of his bag, which he dumps on the floor after pulling them out. He’s got a grey beanie covering most of his hair, and it’s layered with snow, so maybe it’s actually a black beanie. I didn’t even know it was supposed to snow today, but it’s December, so I’m not surprised.

“Hey man, it’s been a while,” he says, pulling the beanie off and shaking it.

“Yeah, how’s it going?”

“Eh, could be better, could be worse? You?”

“Not bad, I guess.” He nods.

“The other two should be here with their respective instruments soon.”

“‘Kay, I don’t really care when they get here. Or if they even show up today. I mean, we’ve got all week, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah we do.”

“Ah, the magic of winter break.”

“Yeah.”

“You ready to start?”

“Sure, why not.”


	2. Ouch

Dallon POV

My fingers hurt. I have pretty much permanent callouses, but I keep screwing this one line up. So I’m sitting in my room, playing it over and over again. I’m gonna head into the studio to record it tomorrow, and I want to get it done as soon as possible. This is the last major recording bit before we finish the demo EP. And I keep playing the entire line for the whole song over and over again. And again. And again. I’m pretty sure my fingers are going to start bleeding soon. I’m waiting for my mom to come in and yell at me to stop and do something else, like sleep, considering it’s 11:00 at night, but for all I know she’s out cold. I sigh and stop, setting my bass down.

Downstairs is quiet, thought I knew it would be because it’s late, no one’s up. So I grab my coat and head out into the cold. I wander around the neighborhood, freezing. There are probably other, better things I could be doing right now. I stop at the park I used to spend a lot of time at as a kid. It hasn’t changed much. Still has a swing set with nasty stuff written onto it or etched into it. Still has the broken slide that everyone uses anyways. Still has the monkey bars that everyone sits on top of, which I could never do. Still has the strong smell of rubber from the rubbery turf they put down. I walk over and sit on one of the swings, the creak of the chains breaking the silence.

I kinda forgot about how pretty it was out here. There’s this break in all the houses and stuff that is really visible from this swing. It’s a field that I think used to grow soy beans or something, but it got overridden with weeds so the owners just left it and sold it to the city. Now it’s full of flowers and weeds and whatever, and beyond that is the woods that are on the edge of the city. It’s a nice picture, like one that’s untouchable almost.

I’m more nervous about this demo EP than I’m letting on. I keep saying that it’s gonna do okay, that maybe we’ll get signed somewhere and be able to release it or something. But in reality, I’m just as nervous about this as Brendon and Patrick are. I mean, we’ve put a hell of a lot of effort into this, especially trying to everything in a week, recording, mixing, etc. And Joe, that kid’s an angel for putting up with us, especially on my end. I’m pretty sure I’m the worst in there, continuously screwing up, thinking I’m screwing up, and getting a little pissy about it. I feel a drop on my head, and I refocus to notice that it’s starting to rain. Lovely. I sigh and stand up, walking back to my house.

In all honesty, I don’t think that this is ever going to amount to anything. I’m probably just gonna move out of my mom’s house and end up living in some apartment with some other guys that I hate and working a dead-end job and hoping for the best, and maybe a girlfriend. I don’t really think that there’s much in this world that’s gonna work out for me.

 

“Fuck,” I mutter. I tried so hard last night to get this down, and I’m already on my seventh run of it. And my fingers are still sore. I look up at the guys.

“Dallon, you okay man?” Patrick looks worried.

“Yeah, yeah, I--just one more run? I’ll get it down this time.”

“Dude, it’s fine, if you need to take a break take one.” I shake my head. I refuse to. I can do this. I know I can.

I play it again. And I screw it up again. I put my bass down before I throw it.

“Fuck!”

“Dallon, seriously, go take a break.” This time it’s Brendon. I nod and get out of the booth. Patrick gives me a sympathetic look.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Brendon says. “I know you know that bassline backwards, forwards and you could probably play it upside down.” I just shake my head. He jerks his head towards the door and I follow him out.

It’s cold. Neither of us have jackets on right now. I’m hoping this is quick before we both freeze. Brendon looks down at my hands, which I’ve shoved into my pockets. He pulls them out, turning them over and looking at my fingers, which have finally cracked and are starting to bleed. How he knew, I don’t know. He’s got a knack for knowing about people’s secrets without them actually saying it.

“Dallon,” he starts, his voice trailing off. I pull my hands back.

“It’s noth--”

“How did this happen?” I sigh and look anywhere but Brendon’s face.

“Brendon, really, it’s--”

“No, what happened?”

“I, well, last night I ran through that line and kept making the same mistake I’ve been doing in the booth. And I kept playing it until I got it right, but it didn’t really happen.”

“How many times?”

“At least 30, maybe more?”

“Dallon!” he half shouts. “You’re bleeding man! That, I, okay, you get one more run for the day and then I’m duct taping your fingers together and I’m not gonna let you back into that booth. You have to stop doing this.”

“I know, I know, okay? I get it. I’m crazy or something.”

“No, your not crazy, just don't push yourself to the point of drawing blood, okay?” I nod and we go back inside, the air between us a little different. I go back in the booth and I can see Brendon telling Patrick what we talked about out there. His shifts his vision over and looks a little upset. I try not to look at him because I’m not gonna go into this knowing how pissed they are at me. Yeah, I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. And I’m the one who’s got sore, bloody fingers.

I play it again. I finally get it to do what I want it to. I set my bass down and exhale all of the breath I’d built up in my chest, scrubbing my hands through my hair. Joe gives me a thumbs up through the booth glass. I exit to hear the cut. Patrick already has his mouth open and I just shake my head at him.

“Later,” I tell him quietly. He nods, sighing.

“Okay, I think this is pretty close to what the final cut will be. I mean, I like it.” He hits play. It does sound good. We sound good. I almost don’t believe it, but I convince myself that it is. I guess drawing blood has it’s benefits.

Patrick POV

The three of us are in Joe’s car. Originally I was supposed to pick Dallon up but my (mom’s) car wouldn’t start this morning, probably due to the extreme cold, so I hitched a ride with Joe, and he was cool with picking Dallon up too. I’m in front, and I’m about to lecture Dallon’s bleeding-fingers ass. But before I can get a word out of my mouth, Dallon says his bit.

“Look, I don’t know exactly what Brendon told you, but I assume it’s something along the vein of me overplaying and that now I’ve basically sliced my fingers open with my bass.”

“Yeah, actually, that’s exactly what he told me.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.” Joe looks between us.

“Should I even be hearing this conversation?” He asks. I look back at Dallon.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re a friend, it doesn’t matter.” Joe nods, though I don’t think he feels any less awkward.

“But why isn’t he wrong? Because he should be,” I say. He takes a deep breath, like he’s going to just unhaul a ton of stuff onto me.

“I honestly don’t know. I just, didn’t stop? I kept screwing up and I didn’t like that.”

“No one likes that.”

“But it was like I had to play until it was right. I don’t know, but I don’t plan on doing it again.” Me and Joe share a look.

“Okay, but that doesn’t make this any more of a good situation. You hurt your fingers, they’re probably gonna scar and I don’t want you to play. God, I figured Brendon would have done something like this, or even me, but you?” I can see Dallon shaking his head and looking at the floor in the mirror. “Hey, no. I’m not mad at you. Okay, I’m mad at you, but not like that. I just, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m mad at myself to be honest.”

“Try soaking your fingers for a bit in water and like keep them moisturized. And whatever you do don’t fucking play,” Joe pipes up from the driver’s seat. I look over at him, a little shocked.

“Wait have you dealt with this before?”

“No, but I’d just assume that doing those things would probably help. I mean, it’s not like you can never play again, but don’t play now.”

“Brendon said after that last run through he was gonna duct tape my fingers together, so I didn’t think playing was ever going to be an option right now.” Dallon admitted.

“I’d just wait until they start to get skin over them,” I say.

“Uck, playing again’s gonna feel like learning. My fingers are gonna kill me.”

“No offense, but you kinda deserve it,” Joe says, turning onto Dallon’s street. Damn, we got here a lot faster than I thought we would. Then again, I’ve never talked this much in a car ever. Dallon laughs a bit.

“Yeah I kinda do.”

“So we’re mixing in a day or so?”

“Yup, see you guys then.”

“See you later man,” I say as he gets out of Joe’s car


	3. Wait, You're In A Band?

Brendon POV

Winter break is almost over and we’re almost done with the EP. I’m still nervous about Dallon and his fingers. I don’t ask him about it any more after the one bit when I first noticed it. I don’t want him to say something he doesn’t want to.

The house is quiet. My parents aren’t spending a lot of time at home, maybe to get me used to the idea of being at college, even though I don’t plan on going. And they have this whole plan and stuff, that I’m gonna go to the same college they did and they want me to meet some nice girl there and have a life like theirs. I don’t want that, I never have. I just don’t have the heart to tell them that I don’t want to go to college and that I don’t want their life and that maybe I might not meet some nice girl, that maybe I might meet some nice guy instead. My parents mean well, they’re sweet and they’ve been great parents, but I just don’t want to continue the same path.

The phone rings, making me jump. I run downstairs to pick it up, suddenly realizing it’s cold and I’m still in my pjs, which basically consist of boxers and a t-shirt. Today it’s an old, practically see-through Queen shirt.

“Hello?” I say, my voice hoarse from sleep.

“Hey, Brendon, can you come to Patrick’s house really quick?” It’s Dallon. It takes me a minute to even realize who I’m talking to. Damn, I need caffeine.

“Wait, what?” There’s a long sigh on the other end. I can’t tell if it’s in my direction or in his own.

“Patrick’s house. Asap? Please?”

“Uh, I have no clue where he lives? Also I have no clothes on right now so…”

“Brendon, did not need to know that you’re na--”

“No no no! I just woke up, I haven’t showered, like I’m still in my pjs. And I haven’t had any caffeine or food or something. And I don’t know where Patrick lives, so that’s kind of an issue,” I shove my foot in my mouth. I blow the air I’d collected from that out of my mouth, trying to hold my words in my head instead of spitting them out.

“Oh, sorry. Um,” Dallon says immediately, giving me Patrick’s address. “And try to be quick? I’d like to get this over with before my mom gets back from work.”

“‘Kay, see you soon?”

“Yeah.” And then Dallon hangs up.

 

I have no idea where I really am. I mean, I’m in Patrick’s driveway, and I know it’s his by Dallon’s car, but I actually have no clue where I am. I walk up to the house and debate if I should just open the door or if I should like knock or something. I eventually just decided to open it.

This was not what I was expecting. Then again, I really don’t know what I was expecting. It almost looks like no one’s here, but I know that they are. I take off my coat, shaking some snow off onto the mat by the door and walk in, my wet shoes squeaking on the floor. I know I should probably ask where they are but it’s so quiet and I’m awkward in other people’s houses.

“Brendon, hey!” It’s Patrick. I look up at the stairs, and see him hanging a little bit over them, glasses on today.

“Hey,” I say, trying to shake the weird feelings off.

“Joe sent me the final cut of the EP.”

“Oh, great! Dallon never told me on the phone earlier why I needed to be here.” Patrick jerks his head up the stairs.  
“Come on,” he says and heads up. I follow.

Patrick’s room is exactly what I expected. It’s in a penthouse, tiny window and little natural light. There’s posters lining the walls, Bowie, Costello, Coltrane, Green Day, Nirvana, Prince, Michael Jackson. There’s a bookshelf pushed up against the back wall that’s half full, a desk right next to it. Patrick’s old shitty computer sitting on it, as well as a few text books. Next to it on the floor are three practice pads and a box full of sticks. The walls are this dark blue and it’s only lit up by the two lamps and a string of lights with cows over the bulbs, which is a little weird but I don’t question it.

Dallon’s sitting in the corner in this old office chair that Patrick told some story about stealing it from the school when his history teacher was going to get rid of it. It looks like it’s going to fall apart. He casually waves at me.

“So Joe decides to call me at five am to tell me that he has it ready, which it’s beyond me why he’s mixing things at five am during winter break, but either way it’s done and I have all four hard copies,” Patrick says, playing around which his shitty computer. After swearing at it once and a quick reboot he finally gets it to play.  
The three of us listen. Joe did an amazing job. But the other thing is that it’s starting to hit me now that this is us. That we wrote these songs. Not some other band, not anyone else. Us. It’s a little overwhelming.

After it’s over, we all just sit there, shocked almost.

“Wow,” Dallon says after a long time. “That’s...wow.” It’s rare that Dallon’s at a loss for words.

“It’s...us,” I say.

“Damn, never thought we’d sound that good.”

“Yeah, neither did I.”

“Shit, this just became real,” Patrick inputs.

“Yeah,” Dallon responds, and I nod. A few more minutes of silence.

“So,” I start, “what comes next?”

Joe POV

I’m getting ready for the gig, texting Gerard while trying to find where I left my backpack because I’m pretty sure the setlists in there, when my phone rings. I sigh, frustrated, and answer.

“Hello?” Damn, I’m coming off crabbier than I mean too.

“Hey, I can call back later.” It’s Patrick. He must have noticed my tone. Then again, I made it pretty noticeable.

“No no, it’s fine, what’s up?” I sit down on the kitchen counter, my feet just off the ground. If my dad could see me right now he’d flip a table. He hates it when I do this.

“We, Brendon, Dallon, and I, listened to the final cut. It’s amazing, thank you so much for doing it.”

“Hey, no problem man.” My phone dings. Ugh, Gerard’s texting me back. It dings again.

“Um, we were wondering if you wanted to come over and hang out or something?” Patrick asks.

“Oh, I would, but um, my band’s got a gig tonight. You guys could come if you wanted. I’d introduce you to the band and all.” I feel bad turning him down, but I do have the gig. My phone dings again. Goddammit Gerard, I think.

“Oh sure! What time and where?”

“It’s at like ten or something at that all ages club downtown?”

“Oh, yeah I know where that is. See you then?”

“See you then.” I hang up, reading through Gerard’s texts.

Gerard: um me & mikey can be there in 10 minutes

Gerard: joe?

Gerard: are you not responding anymore?

Me: oh sorry I was on the phone w/ patrick

Gerard: mikey says that patrick’s your boyfriend. I had to ask who he was sorry

Me: you can tell mikey that he can fuck off

Gerard: he said that your mean

Me: then tell him he shouldn’t say stupid things

Gerard: he just flipped me off and said it was for you

Gerard: I feel like you owe me b/c I just got flipped off for you

Me: sure I owe you

Me: did you talk to ryan or spencer?

Gerard: nah

Gerard: correction mikey did

Gerard: ryan’s trying to talk his mom out of making him go to his grandma’s and spencer ready whenever

Me: cool

Me: patrick and his band are coming to the gig tonight

Gerard: oh?

Me: yeah tell mikey he has to be nice to them

Gerard: he’ll be fine

Gerard: and also he’s shit talking you about how you’re bringing your boyfriend to the gig

Me: just show him the next text

Me: FUCK YOU MIKEY WAY AND ALL YOU STAND FOR

Me: he’s not my boyfriend

Gerard: omg mikey’s gonna die of laughter

Gerard: k we’re leaving now

Me: k see ya soon

Dallon POV

“I didn’t know that Joe was in a band,” I say after Patrick hangs up and tells us about the gig.

“Neither did I.”

“Dude, he’s your friend,” Brendon says, pulling his phone out and frowning.

“The subject never came up.”

“Ugh, I have to go.”

“Why?” I ask.

“My mom, I swear--” he looks down at his phone again. “Ugh, I’ll be back later, where should I meet you guys?”

“Here’s fine,” Patrick says. “Get here when you can, they start at ten, so maybe sometime before that?”

“‘Kay, see you then.” And off he goes. I look back over at Patrick. He’s trying to get his computer to work. That thing is a piece of shit and I’ve been telling him to get rid of it forever, but he won’t. I look down at my watch, it’s almost two.

“Shit, I have to call my mom before she kills me.”

“Dude, you’re an adult, why don’t you just move out? You’re not even going to school.”

“Moving out requires independent wealth or a job, which I have neither, so no.” I pull my phone out. “I’ll be back.” He nods as I leave the room.

My mom picks up on the first ring.

“Where the hell are you? No note? No text?”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m at Patrick’s.” My mom huffs.

“Patrick’s. I never see you anymore, you’re always at Patrick’s or Brendon’s. You’re always busy.”

“Mom, I’m doing something, I’m making--”

“Look, I don’t care. I feel like--I feel like you hate me or something, you never spend any time with me.” I want to hang up. I want to smash my phone on the ground. I want to tell her I’m coming back and taking all my stuff and leaving her house forever, but I don’t.

“Mom, I’ll be home later, like eleven?”

“Fine. DON’T be late.”

“Okay. Bye mom.”

“Bye.” She hangs up.

I sigh and go back into Patrick’s room. He looks at me with sympathy.

“She’s still like this?”

“Yeah. I’m just frustrated.”

“It’s only been six months, give her time.”

“She’s getting worse though!” I run my hand through my hair. “I really should move out.”

“My offer still stands if you want it.”

“I can’t take it, I told you that. I’ll just wait it out, for a little bit longer at least.” Patrick shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead he heads towards his door.

“Wanna play video games and pretend that our lives aren’t going to shit?”

“That sounds like a really good idea, actually.”


	4. A Fantastic Evening, At Least From Patrick’s Perspective

Patrick POV

Four hours later, my mom’s home, my dad called me but I told him I’d call him back later, and I think Dallon’s finally starting to get over his call with his mom. God, I feel bad for him. In all honesty, I think that’s why he ripped his fingers open.

My mom’s really used to Dallon being here. She just said hi and then went and made pizza. When we stop playing video games, we go into the kitchen, which now smells good.

“Hey mom,” I say, hugging her. I’m really close with my mom. When her and my dad got divorced when I was little, my dad got the promotion he’d been holding off on and has been traveling around for work. He and my mom are still okay friends, they just couldn’t be married I guess. But I don’t see him a whole lot, I just mostly talk on the phone with him. But I’ve pretty much grown up with just me, my mom, and my brother.

“Hey sweetie,” she says. “Hey Dallon.” He gives her a complimentary nod. “How are the two of you?”

“Not too bad,” I say. My mom pulls out some plates and we start taking pizza. “There’s a show we’re going to later, Brendon’s coming up to see it too.”

“Okay, just be home by midnight.” It’s not long until we’re talking and laughing and it’s all normal and stuff. My mom’s telling some story about this date mishap from college and I can see Dallon trying super hard not to spit the milk out that he just took a sip of. We both start laughing soon though, my mom too, her words overrun with it. It’s like there was no crappy days, like everything was great.

Joe POV

It’s a half hour before the gig’s gonna start, and the whole of Our Anathema is here. Good band name, Mikey made it. Kid’s got a vocabulary, I’ll say that much. Not that I should really call him ‘Kid’, he’s older than me by a year and a half. Actually, I’m the youngest of us. Ryan, Mikey, and Spencer all just graduated last year, and Gerard’s been out for three years or something like that. I’m on the wall, watching the current band play, when I get a tap on the shoulder. I turn to see Patrick, Dallon, and Brendon.

“Oh hey guys,” I say. There’s a chorus of heys. “So, um, band’s this way, we’re on in thirty if these guys on now get through their set on time.” They nod.

“Am I the only one who thinks they--” Brendon starts, jerking his head towards the guy wailing onstage--“sound like dying cats?” We all laugh.

“Nope, not at all.” I lead them backstage, passing around the twists of people. Ryan’s trying to fix his eyeliner, which I still don’t know why he wears it, but it’s like he’s painting on his face every performance that’s like this, kind of a big deal. Today it’s the standard ring around each eye and birds flying down his left cheek, though he smudged three of them. Spencer’s next to him, cringing.

“Does anyone have cotton balls or something? I don’t know if I can stand the great tragedy being performed right now,” he says, fishing around in the bag next to him.

“Stop bitching,” Ryan says, blinking a couple times and dropping the eyeliner in his own bag.

“Says the king of bitching and complaining.”

“Hey, don’t even--” I clear my throat and the two of them stop. They’re best friends, I get it. Me and Mikey are like that, we have a constant argument going. Currently it’s that Patrick’s my boyfriend, though he’s not. I’m not even into guys, at least I don’t think I am. Mikey’s just a jerk.

“Oh, hi, sorry,” Spencer apologizes immediately. He stands up, sticks in hand (which what I’m assuming he was digging for). Ryan stops trying to glam himself up and comes up next to Spencer, folding his arms over his chest.

“Guys,” I say, gesturing to Patrick, Dallon, and Brendon, “this is Spencer,” I gesture at him, “and Ryan. Lead and drums.” The five of them share heys.

“So, these are the guys you engineered for?” Ryan asks, almost unkindly. He’s not exactly great with new people. I’m waiting for the ums to come.

“Yeah, just finished it this morning.”

“Waking me up at five, to be exact,” Patrick adds, giving me the same pissed off glance he did when I got to his house with the copies. I shrug.

“Maybe if you didn’t go to sleep until three am this wouldn’t be an issue.” Everyone but Patrick laughs. Oh, this is already going to be a good friendship, I have a feeling. I expect Patrick to have some witty comeback, but instead he just shakes his head.

“I don’t know about you Joe Trohman, you seem a little off.” After that, brief conversation starts between us. Spencer, Patrick, Dallon, and I get on to the topic of the world’s worst/best comic books. Apparently we are all way nerdier that I thought. Brendon and Ryan hit it off immediately, talking about god knows what, but it’s probably the most I’ve ever seen Ryan talk to someone he doesn’t know, both of their mouth’s moving faster than I can keep up with.

“Hey, where did Gerard and Mikey go?” I ask, suddenly remembering they haven’t met the guys yet.

“Gerard said something about cigarettes and disappeared five minutes ago or something, and I don’t know where Mikey went, maybe he tried to chat some girl up,” Spencer said, spinning one of his sticks. I snort. Mikey doesn’t chat up anyone. He’s not really interested in dating anyone. Trust me, I tried to set him up with one girl, he said no, and then I asked if he prefered dudes, and he said no. I think he just doesn’t care. And that’s fine. Spencer looks at me odd for a second, and then nods. “I’ll go find them.”

“Yeah, since we go on in what, fifteen minutes-ish?” Spencer disappears.

“They’re pretty cool,” Dallon says, leaning against the wall.

“Yeah, they’re nice guys. I don’t think I ever seen Ryan talk this much before.” I jerk my head over to him and Brendon, who are still talking.

“I can’t tell if Brendon is talking so much because he likes him or if he’s so nervous he can’t shut up,” Patrick adds. I nod. Dallon gets distracted by his phone, nudging Patrick, who looks over at it and takes the phone.

“Dude, what the hell?” He says, trying to take it back.

“Hold on a frickin’ minute,” Patrick says, shutting it off and handing it back to Dallon. “Consider tonight your night off from the watch. She’ll be fine for a couple hours, okay?” Dallon nods. I watch the exchange a little confused, but I don’t ask about, I don’t feel like it’s my place. The three of us fall silent, the wailing on stage starting again. Ugh, when can they be done? I’m suddenly nudged in the back, and it’s not gentle by any means.

“Fuck you, Mikey,” I say, not even bothering to turn around to check. I know the familiar greeting. He snorts, walking around next to me, Gerard and Spencer not too far behind him.

“So, is this the famous Patrick, aka bookstore guy?”

“Indeed, it is,” Patrick responds.

“Cool, I’m Mikey,” he says, holding his hand out. Patrick takes it.

“This one’s Dallon,” the two of them shake hands, “and the one over there who hasn’t spoken to us since we got here is Brendon.” Mikey looks back where Patrick’s pointing.

“Nice. This loser next to me’s Gerard, my older brother.” Gerard shot Mikey daggers.

“Wow, I see how it is.”

“Now you know how I feel every day of my life Gerard,” I say. I’m sure that Gerard gets it too. Mikey’s pretty ruthless, but that’s just his exterior. He’s a softie and just doesn’t like showing it. Gerard shrugs and exchanges greetings with the guys.

“So Joe engineered for you guys, right?” Mikey asks, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, yeah he did.” Mikey nods. The wailing stops. The guy who keeps track of the bands and stuff comes up to Gerard.

“You guys are on in five, just so you know.”

“Alright, thank you,” Gerard says. Spencer slips back and pulls on Ryan’s sleeve, breaking the conversation. Patrick gets Brendon’s attention, gesturing back towards the audience space.

“Good luck up there guys,” Dallon says.

“Thanks man,” I say, grabbing my guitar and slinging over my shoulder. It’s time to put on a show.

Patrick POV

I’m in a little bit of a daze as we go out to find a spot to watch. We opt for the wall where Joe was when we first got there, it’s out of the crazy crowd and it’s got a good view. My attention stays mostly on Gerard. Oh my god, I’m gay. Like, I know I’m gay, but I feel like it’s really obvious right now. Gerard is...wow. First impression checked off as 100% amazing, would definitely talk to him again. And probably suck his face off. I shudder, I’m grossing myself out. And this is why I’ve never had a real relationship with anyone. I’m still staring when someone snaps their fingers right in front of my face.

“What the--?”

“So he is a functional human being, impressive,” Brendon says. I blink a few times and look over at him.

“Ha ha,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

“So which one is it?”

“It couldn’t be Joe, or we would’ve never gotten anything done in the studio,” Dallon says.

“Probably not Ryan or Spencer, or we would’ve lost you a long time ago.”

“So it’s either Mikey or Gerard.”

“Wanna place bets Dallon?” Ah yes, my wonderful friends, turning my possible love life into a joke. Sounds about right.

“Hmm, I dunno, you go first.”

“50 bucks it’s Mikey.”

“Oh see I was leaning towards Gerard.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.” They shake across me. I push their hands apart.

“Shut up, god.” I roll my eyes again. I wish my attraction wasn’t so obvious. And that Dallon didn’t know me so well. The two of them explode into laughter. I shove them both. “Stop turning my personal life into a gambling adventure!”

“Aw, we only do it because we love you,” Brendon says, putting one arm around my shoulders. I roll my eyes and shove his arm off in a non-hostile way. There’s a heavy riff from the stage, and we all turn our attention towards it.

“Good evening everybody!” Gerard greets from the stage. “We are Our Anathema, and are you ready to dance?” People from the crowd cheer as the launch into their first song. It’s straight up pop-punk, Blink-182 worthy sounds. Though there’s something else about it. Maybe it’s Gerard’s voice, or maybe it’s the lyrics. I don’t know, but it’s not quite the same. I like it, The crowds jumping and they look a whole lot livelier than they were before. I lean back against the wall, crossing my arms. They are really good, better than us, probably. I mean, we make a completely different style of music, but I’m kinda blown away by the talent I’m looking at. Also by the one in front singing, but that’s a different thing.

Brendon and Dallon are sharing my surprise. We’re all just standing here, staring.

“And to think we didn’t even know he was in a band,” Brendon said. I just nod. It’s chemical, what’s happening on stage. I got the vibe that I did when we played our first show together, only with a twist in flavor.

 

We stay the whole set, compliment them after, and leave. We drive back to my house, and Brendon leave immediately, saying he was supposed to be home five minutes ago, and he’s still got a 45 minute drive. I wish him luck. I look over at Dallon, who’s turning his phone back on. I lock my (mom’s) car, leaning against the door into the house.

“You sure you wanna go home? You sure you’re ready to?” Dallon shakes his head.

“I don’t have a choice, you know that.” I nod.

“If it’s bad, call. I’ll get there as soon as I can, okay?”

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” I nod again. “Bye.”

“Later, dude.” And with that, I go inside.


	5. A Few Months And More Than A Few Meetings Later

Brendon POV

Last bell of the year. Everyone floods out of the school, loud and excited and stuff. I pull my phone out of my pocket, checking through texts. There’s about seven of them, most from Dallon, one from Patrick, and one from Ryan. I read through them.

Dallon: holy crap we got the papers

Dallon: we just need your signature

Dallon: oh and we might end up on tour this summer jsyk

Dallon: this is not a drill Brendon we’re getting signed

Dallon: BRENDON LOOK AT YOUR PHONE I KNOW YOU’RE AT BREAK LOOK AT YOUR PHONE

Patrick: did Dallon text you?

Ryan: dude, did you get the papers? are you guys getting signed same label as us?

I text Dallon back before he loses his mind, saying that I’ll go sign them at his house if I can. I drive back to my house, trying to figure out how to explain to my parents what we’re doing. I’m not dropping out of high school, that wouldn’t be a question, but college…

This falls in the same place as sexuality. As grades. As religious beliefs. As “hey guess what, I’m the complete opposite from you people and I know that you don’t like that so save the drama and kick me out now” talks. And I don’t want to have those talks. Why can’t life just figure itself out?

I slam the car door shut, grabbing my stuff from the back seat, and going inside.

“Hey Brendon, how was the last day of school?” My mom’s standing in the kitchen doorway, her arms folded over her chest.

“Fine.” My phone buzzes.

Dallon: yeah get here soon man we gotta have these back in at the end of the week

Dallon: Patrick’s already signed them but he also didn’t have school so

“I’m so glad I get to have a real conversation with you, Bren.” I snap my head up, my mom tilting hers to the side, a small, slightly sarcastic smile on her face.

“Oh, sorry, um, can I go to Dallon’s?”

“Jeez, five minutes of freedom and you’re already leaving me.”

“It’s important,” I say quickly, hoping that she doesn’t ask what about.

“Yes, you may go.”

“Thank you! I’ll be back in time for dinner.” I grab my keys and leave before she can even say goodbye.

Dallon lives literally ten minutes from my house. Patrick’s (mom’s) car is in the driveway. I park mine on the street (it’s a small driveway) and head in.

“Hey man,” Dallon says, passing over this packet and a pen.

“Hey.”

“No more school?”

“Not for three months.”

“Ha, I’m a free bird,” Patrick says.

“Fuck you man.” Patrick shrugs. I flip through the packet, not understanding a word. “What does any of this mean anyways?”

“Basically, it means that we can get into the label’s studios, they will pay for things to get our album done, and they’ll be putting us on tour,” Dallon says.

“With who?”

“We’re opening for some punk band, maybe it’s metal, I don’t know. But, we’re not the only two. Ryan’s been texting me all day, he’s trying to get them put on the tour too. I think it’d be good to go out with people we know.” I nod, putting my signature on the line. That’s it. It’s official. I’ve just thrown away my parents plans for my life. Fuck them, this is what I want to do anyways.

“The Light Lives are signed, ladies and gentlemen!” Dallon says. We decided on the name a week ago. I like it. I don’t even know where Patrick got it, but that’s what it is. There’s this slightly unenthusiastic whoop in the three of us.

“That ‘this got real’ feeling just came back,” Patrick said, fiddling with the pencil in his hand. I nod. It’s real.

Gerard POV

We’re trying. And I think we might get it. Ryan’s in deeper than I am, but he makes me come along to get this approved. I mean, we’re gonna leave in two weeks if we can get them to let us on. Otherwise they’ll be sending someone else out, and I don’t think it’s a good idea. None of us do. I remember our first tour with another band we didn’t know. I mean, we’re pretty chill with them now, but then it was awkward. And this is The Light Lives first tour ever.

“Look, we know the road, we’re still small, and we’ve known these guys for a long time,” Ryan argues with the managers.

“Yes, but that’s a good reason to not send you out. You know them, they should learn how to tour without before-hand knowledge,” one of them sends back. I think it’s Razors and Steel’s manager. That’s the headliner, the big name. Well, as big as an indie label makes you. I share a look with Ryan.

“How many times have you toured?” I ask.

“I don’t see how this is rele--”

“I have a point, I promise.” He sighs. I’m pretty sure he hates the two of us now.

“I don’t know, thirty? Forty?”

“Remember your first?”

“Of course.”

“Remember how confused you were, how everything was weird and how much you weren’t used to this and how many mistakes you made?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have anyone you knew out with you?”

“Y-yes.” I smile a little.

“Then why is it such a problem? Also, we haven’t toured since first getting signed, you think you’d want us to do so.” The managers say nothing. I think we got them.

“Fine, fine, you can do the tour.” We thank them and shake hands and stuff, leaving the meeting space. Silence as we walk back to my car. Ryan pulls his phone out when we get there.

“Hey, we just got out of the meeting.” Break of silence. “Yeah, we are going on the tour.” Break of silence. “Yeah, okay. See you guys in two weeks!”

“Success?”

“Success.”


	6. Because Early Mornings Were Invented For Deep Confession

Dallon POV

Someone pushes me awake. I pull my head away from the window edge to see a Patrick Stump coughing. He mumbles an apology, to which I just shrug. It’s still dark outside. My phone’s in my lap, earbuds tangled up with it. I turn it on, checking the time. It’s 2:14 am. I sigh and plug the earbuds in, trying to find something to fill the silence.

We’re two and a half weeks into this. It’s been good, getting to go up and prove to a bunch of punks that we’re good. It’s like we have to make them like us. And most of them do. It’s not anything like Razors and Steel Teeth’s music (yes, that’s their band name, but most people just say Razors; we’re trying to get them to change it to just Razors, it’s a better name), but people like it. People like us. Still not over it. I feel like I’m in some sort of dream land, like eventually I’m gonna wake up and it’s all over, the signing, the tour, the friends, the happiness I haven’t felt in a long time. But it’s not, so far. My mom hasn’t called, so that means she must be doing okay, though she’s also stubborn, so for all I know she’s dead and I don’t know it. It’s a little bit of nagging anxiety that won’t go away until I get back, but that’s still a month and a half away. Honestly, I don’t want to go back. But I have to. I hate that little “have to” part. I should really get my life in order, but that can wait; it’s already been waiting more than a year, it can wait a little longer.

A text pops up on my phone. I look down at it, and I don’t believe who it’s from.

Breezy: hey, I know it’s really late (or early) but could you talk right now?

I haven’t heard from Breezy in almost a year, and she just texts me out of the blue at 12 am her time?

Me: yeah, what’s up?

Breezy: oh my god, I didn’t think you’d actually answer

Breezy: I’ve been thinking about the last time we talked

Now I’m thinking about the last time we talked. It’s not one of my finer moments in life, I was kind of a jerk. But so was she. We both walked away from that pissed with a truce.

Me: oh?

Breezy: yeah

Breezy: I was an idiot, I’m so sorry about that night

Me: I was an idiot too, so don’t waste a good apology

It takes a good ten minutes for a response.

Breezy: can we start over? I kinda miss you

I’m just staring at my phone. Breezy was one of the few, like Patrick and Brendon, who I felt like I could talk to, who I felt like I could tell about my problems. But Breezy was different, mostly because there was a romantic relationship there, but I didn’t think that after a year-ish either of us would really ask for a start over, even if we wanted it.

Me: I kinda miss you too

I write out about three different responses to her question. None of them seem right. I never used to be like this when I talked to her, but things have gotten cold.

Me: never mind, I really miss you

Me: I’d take a start over

Breezy: alright

Me: when though?

Breezy: you know, I didn’t think about that

Breezy: I’m back home in a few weeks to see my dad

Me: I’m not back for another month and a half

Breezy: jeez, what the hell are you doing?

Me: remember Patrick and Brendon?

Breezy: you mean your band?

Me: hey, they’re also my best friends

Me: but yeah

Me: um, we’re on tour right now

Breezy: wow, I thought you weren’t gonna stand the test of time

Me: none of us did either

Breezy: are you playing a home show in a few weeks?

Me: no

Me: we’re actually gonna be your way by the end

Breezy: I’ll be back by then

Breezy: so like, are you playing there or?

Me: a city over, if you can do that, on august 20

Breezy: yeah, I totally can

Me: I’ll meet you after the show?

Breezy: yeah sure

Me: okay

Breezy: I still miss you

Me: I still miss you too

After that, there’s no response. I shut my phone off. So that’s it. I’m seeing her again. Patrick fell back asleep, but I don’t think I will. No one else is awake either. I guess I’m lonely for now.

Joe POV

I’m awake earlier than I’d like to be. That’s one of the problems with touring, you have a more than weird sleep schedule. I nudge Mikey, who’s in the seat next to me. I’m an asshole, what can I say? Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t done that to me.

“What the actual fuck Joe? It is too early for this shit.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Whatever.” I look out the window at the sun sitting on the edge of the parking lot.

“So.”

“That is a deep thought.”

“My specialty.”

“Are you ditching me today or do we actually get to ride together,” Mikey says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. The rules of tour in vans are this: you can ride with whoever you want, but you gotta sleep with your band in your van, the one that’s got your specific name spray painted on. It’s convenient that way because then you know where your clothes and stuff is. Most of the time I end up riding with Patrick.

“I’m not ditching you for now. I’m making no promises this afternoon though.” Mikey nods, putting his glasses on. I haven’t seen him wear them in a while, but he’s gone back to it recently. I think the contacts bothered him. It’s quiet. And this is why I hate waking up so early. Mikey nudges me.

“What?”

“I wanna say something.”

“Shoot.”

“You know how I’ve never dated anyone?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a reason for it.” I kinda figured that.

“Where are you going with this Mikey?”

“I’m, um, aromantic. And asexual.” I don’t say anything. I don’t even know what the hell that means. “And you hate me, great.”

“No, just, I don’t understand? Elaborate please?” A wave of relief passes over Mikey’s face.

“Well, aromantic means I don’t have romantic attraction, and asexual pretty much means the same, only no sexual attraction. Sorry if that’s weird.”

“Meh, I couldn’t give a fuck if you wanted to date anyone or not.”

“Good. Last thing I need is my best friend hating me.”

“Have you told Gerard?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?”

“That he doesn’t care, I’m still his brother, and what I like, or in this case don’t, doesn’t change that. Actually, he said he was glad, because the way I brought the subject up he thought I was gonna tell him I was into guys because then I’d still his exes.” I laugh.

“That does sound like something you’d do.”

“Very, very true. But you really don’t care?”

“No. You’re my best friend, it’s not my place to tell you what you’re into, it’s my place to make bad puns out of it.”

“Thank you. And I’m expecting absolutely horrible ones. Like hurts-my-heart-and-bursts-my-eardrums bad.”

“You will not be let down.” The two of us start laughing, and then my head hits something hard, which happened to be the seat belt buckle. “Oh my fucking ow.” Mikey keeps laughing, throwing one arm around me.

“Idiot.”


	7. Sleeping In Vans Isn’t As Comfortable As It Sounds (It’s Worse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Every POV switch is a new day, keep that in mind. Also, this will probably be the only author’s note in this whole thing because I hate author’s notes for no reason.

Patrick POV

“Look at that, Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” Pete says, being his obnoxious self. He and Mikey make a pair, honestly. They’ve got the slightly annoying bassist bond. I just tug on the edge of my beanie (yes, it’s 75 degrees out and I’m wearing a beanie; no shame) and roll my eyes, sitting down on the ground next to Joe. We kinda group into a circle for meals and stuff in the mornings.

“Dude, why do you sleep so late?” Joe asks me.

“I don’t know, I’m just not an early person I guess.”

“Also you shove other people awake at two am,” Dallon says, a little bitterly, a little sarcastically.

“I was coughing!”

“I’m just giving you crap,” he says brightly. I shake my head, grabbing one of the bananas in front of me.

It’s interesting, touring. The group of us became close pretty quick just by switching up who we’re riding with. From outside my band, I’d probably say that I’m best with Joe, Gerard, Andy, and Frank, though I can get along with pretty much everyone. Except maybe Pete, he and I argue a little too easily.

At this point I’ve lost whatever conversation was happening. And I really don’t care, I’m still not really awake enough to do so. Gerard nudges me. I didn’t even notice he was next to me. Actually, I think he moved over here.

“Hmm?” I say.

“You know what I did?”

“Nope, what?”

“I counted up the token straight guys we have, minus Jon,” he says, and strange smile on his face. Jon’s our tour manager. He’s a pretty cool guy. I laugh. Leave it to Gerard to even think about counting up token straight guys. I don’t bother to ask why.

“And how many token straight guys do we have? I know there’s Dallon.”

“Four.”

“Wait, who else?”

“Ray, Joe, and Ryan.”

“Seriously? Ryan’s straight?”

“Yeah.”

“Would not have pegged him for that at all.”

“Neither did I, but he’s straight as a lowercase letter L.”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah.”

“And how, may I ask, did you acquire this knowledge?”

“Well, I’ve known Ryan and Joe for like three years.”

“Yeah, but how did you know about Ray? And how did you know that Frank and Pete and Andy weren’t?”

“I have my ways.” Then he winks at me. I pray that he can’t see the blush that’s crawling up my neck. I open my mouth to reply when--

“Gee! Mom’s on the phone, she wants to talk to you,” Mikey says over the circle. He’s the only one who calls Gerard that. Gerard sighs, getting up.

“See you later.”

“Yeah.” I can see Dallon making faces and gestures at me, which I know are in reference to me talking to Gerard. I shake my head. My best friend is an idiot.

Brendon POV

Gerard and I are sharing looks. The idiots behind us have gotten into territory that I don’t care about at this point.

“How can you possibly say that Aquaman is useless?” Ryan folded his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised in annoyance, staring his friend straight in the face. I watch from the front seat, intrigued at how this was gonna end.

“Come on, what does he do that’s important? Like, he legit had to teach fish to sing him happy birthday on his birthday. If that’s not the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard,” Spencer fires back.

“So he’s a little lonely, big fucking deal. That does not mean that he’s useless! He’s part of the Justice League, so he’s gotta be somewhat useful.”

“Hawkeye’s part of the Avengers that doesn’t mean he’s useful either.”

“Fuck off! Don’t even bring Marvel into this!”

“You’re impossible.”

“Come on, Brendon, you gotta back me up on this,” Ryan says, turning to me.

“Hell no man, I’m not getting involved.” Also, I agree with Spencer, but I’m not gonna admit to that because I like having my skin on my body.

“Gerard?”

“I’ve been part of too many arguments over this and I have no intention of getting into another one.”

I quit!” Ryan throws his arms up in resignation. Spencer looks pretty pleased with himself. I shake my head and turn back around.

Joe POV

“A bed! A real bed! Those things exist! It’s a Christmas Miracle!” Frank says, flopping down on one of the beds in the hotel room. I laugh. Tonight we could choose our roommates. I pulled Patrick, who pulled Frank, who pulled Andy.

“Nah man, the true sacred thing here is,” Patrick says, running over to one of the shut doors and opening it, “a shower!”

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” I say, dumping my bag on the floor. I look around the room. It’s not that bad, a pretty typical hotel room if you ask me. Though there are only two beds, which means we have to share. Not that I care, because we fall asleep on each other in the vans so often that it’s not weird. Actually, in a bed, you get more space. And it beats a van any day.

“I call first shower,” Andy says, dumping his stuff on the floor too.

“Second,” Patrick says almost immediately. A muffled “third” comes from the corner of the room where Frank’s digging around in his bag for something.

“Alright, I guess I’m last.” No one’s really talking. I mean, there’s not much to say. We spend every waking hour together, so we run out of things to talk about. But there’s something nice about silence.

Everyone’s through in an hour. Patrick’s furiously texting someone, sitting next to me on one of the beds.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, putting his phone down. It buzzes again.

“What?”

“Nothing, just my dad.”

“Oh.” I knew that Patrick had some issues with his dad sometimes, but he’s never really elaborated on it. He hesitantly picks up his phone, reads it, and then hands it to me.

“Before I throw it.” I just nod, taking the phone and putting in on the floor, but not before I catch a glimpse of the conversation. I know I shouldn’t have looked, but I did anyways.

Patrick’s Dad: look, I know you’re mad about this

Patrick: hell yeah I’m mad about this

Patrick: it was none of your business to look through that stuff

Patrick: and I didn’t even know you’d come back! you should have said something

Patrick: but it’s too late now

Patrick’s Dad: can we just talk this out or something?

Patrick: no, I’m done

Patrick’s Dad: if this is about me not being there, I’m sorry

I look back over at Patrick, and he’s still pretty mad. I don’t engage anything because I don’t really know what he feels right now. I can’t relate to this, my parents aren’t divorced, my dad doesn’t purposely-on-accident piss me off. Though I still feel really bad for him.

“Do you wanna--?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

Dallon POV

I’m quick tuning my bass up before we go on. It still hurts a bit to play, but I suffer through it. My fingers lost the tolerance. I can’t tell if this string is a little bit flat or right.

“Hey, Pete,” I semi shout over the noise. Anathema’s up first tonight and they’re halfway through the set, so it’s kind of hard to hear. Pete turns his head.

“What’s up?”

“I need another set of ears, I can’t tell if this is in tune or not.” He walks over. I play the strings.

“Yeah, I think you’re good man.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Our Anathema finishes up. We go on and do our thing. Razor’s heads out, and the crowd gets really loud.

“It’s a good sized crowd tonight,” Spencer says, holding Ryan’s water bottle out to him. He takes it.

“Yeah, definitely,” I toss in.

“They were really good about interacting too,” Gerard says.

“I think they’re just excited to see people play, most crowds have seem a little unimpressed with us because we’re not even close to punk rock.”

“See, that’s what makes us punk,” Patrick says, coming out of nowhere. I shrug.

“I saw some kids out there, like, younger than Brendon,” Ryan says.

“Yeah.”

“Definitely makes it fun,” Spencer says. I nod. Brendon shows up from nowhere (seriously where have they been disappearing to), no shirt on. His had been absolutely soaked in sweat. It’s really hot tonight, and stage lights and jumping around doesn’t help any.

“So when were you gonna tell us about the chick you’ve been talking too Dallon?” I snap my head over to him, narrowing my eyes. How the hell did Brendon know about me talking to Breezy again. I can feel everyone else’s attention shifting onto me.

“What chick?” Joe asks. I look around, and just as I suspected, everyone’s looking at me. I sigh.

“Her name's Breezy, and literally it’s not important.”

“That’s not what the texts on your phone say,” Brendon taunts me, holding my phone up. He shakes it, and I lunge to grab it.

“You jerk! Give it back! How’d you even get it anyways?” He just laughs and hands it over.

“You left in on the floor, I’d assumed you’d dropped it, and it lit up, I couldn’t not be nosy, you know me.” I roll my eyes. Patrick’s got his arms folded over his chest.

“When’d you start talking to her again?”

“A couple weeks ago or something like that. And like I said,” I look over at Brendon with slits, “it’s not that big of a deal.” He just smirks at me. There’s a few hushed laughs, not like I care.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Mikey also shows up from nowhere (this is getting ridiculous, where are they going? Like, no one ever gave me a 10 second briefing of this place).

“Dallon’s got a secret girlfriend,” Gerard says to his brother.

“Ohhh.”

“Not really a secret girlfriend, considering she’s my ex,” I correct him.

“Your ex? Dude, why?” Joe looks so appalled. He doesn’t know, so I don’t blame him.

“We didn’t wanna break up,” I mutter.

“Then why did you?”

“You know, I don’t know.” They jump into some other conversation. I lean against the empty amp cases that Patrick’s sitting on.

“Did you--?” He starts to ask. I shake my head.

“She texted me.”

“So, are you two dating again?”

“Maybe? She asked for a start over, which I agreed to. I’m seeing her when we play the show out where she lives now.” He nods.

“Still better at getting the girl than I will ever be.”

“Dude, you’re gay,” I say, shaking my head, laughing a little.

“Exactly.” Smart mouth.


	8. The Week Of...Actually, We Still Don’t Know

Gerard POV

“You guys have been one of the best crowds we’ve had all tour,” I say right after the end of the last songs. I’m not kidding, they have. They cheer super loud, and I can’t help but smile. “Thank you, and have a good night!” We leave the stage, Ryan and Joe tossing picks at them. And each other.

We go back, completely worn out. Tonight was pretty good, different lineup than normal, but that was fine. It worked pretty nicely to have Razors sandwiched between Light Lives and us.

“You guys did really well up there,” Frank says.

“Thanks man.”

“I could sleep for about seven days,” Mikey says.

“Agreed,” Spencer says from the back. I shake my head. I’d like to sleep for seven days too, but that isn’t about to happen. We’ve still got like two weeks or something.

“Hey, have you seen Dallon?” Ray asks me once everyone’s spread out and started clean up.

“No, why?”

“He disappeared a little while ago and I need him to help me with the identification of guitars, I’ve lost track and he knows it pretty well.”

“Did you ask Patrick?”

“Yeah, he said he didn’t know, and he was gonna help me look, but someone pulled him into something.”

“Sorry man.”

“Thanks anyways.” Ray walks off. I frown, looking over at Mikey. He shrugs. I watch Ray go.

Dallon POV

I’m just staring at the phone in my hand. I can’t tell if I’m mad or scared. Mad. Scared. Mad. No, scared. Definitely scared. Though I’m a little mad. But still scared. I’m this close to passing out, so I sit down on the curb, my head in my hands.

“Dallon! There you are, I need some help with--wait, are you okay?” I look up at Ray and shake my head. He sits down next to me, and I slide my phone into my pocket. “What’s up?” He looks genuinely interested in hearing about my shitty life.

“I should probably start from the beginning, or you won’t get it, but it’s a really long story.”

“I don’t care, we’ve got some time.” I slightly raise an eyebrow, but tell him anyways.

“Well, it’s been a little over a year now, but um, my mom’s not the stablest person ever, and my dad--” I stop. “My dad, he’s, um--” I can’t say it. I don’t know why, telling Patrick and Brendon wasn’t hard. Why is it now? I bite my lip, feeling my face get hot and my head get that fuzzy pain that it does when you’re gonna cry.  
“Hey, take your time.” I look over at him. Ray’s a kind guy, reminds me of Patrick a little. Only I’ve known Patrick long enough he’s let the politeness down a little bit. I sigh, holding back the sob that wants to escape my throat.

“My dad had cancer. It’s not the worst thing, but it’s terrible. And my mom needed him, she’s been dependent on him for a long time. When he got diagnosed, my mom was really optimistic, while my dad was really not. That’s pretty normal, but my dad was basically told that even with treatment, he was gonna live six months, maybe. My mom urged him to get treatment, and he went, but he hated it. He thought it was pointless to be wasting money on a possible six months. He got more irritated and angry as time went on. So he waited until I graduated high school and killed himself after getting ridiculously drunk. My mom fell apart after that, and she started to get more and more controlling, more reckless. I haven’t moved out yet, mostly because I’m afraid she’s gonna hurt herself or try to off herself. But it’s taken a huge toll on my own mental health. That’s why I’ve been so grateful for the band and the tour. I’ve been able to get out of her house and be able to break out a little. I haven’t been this happy in a long time. Until tonight, when she--” and then I break. The tears are hot and fast. I really hate crying. Ray puts one arm around me.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says to me quietly. I could hear someone else coming up somewhere around me. I look up and it’s Patrick kneeling in front of me. He’s got this worried look on his face, and I can see out of my peripheral vision that the other guys are standing at a distance but are watching the whole thing. Oh my god, I think, they can see my emotional breakdown. I turn my attention back to Patrick.

“Did she call?” He asks. I nod. “What’d she say?”

“She lost it. She said something about how she was gonna come and drag me home. And I think she’d started to smash dishes, and that got me nervous, I’m afraid she was gonna cut herself, and she kept threatening me. I’m just…” I trail off. He knows what I mean. I keep crying, though I don’t want to. I bite my lip, only to keep crying and taste blood. Great.

“We need to call someone, she can’t be alone. It’s gonna be alright, yeah?”

“I shouldn’t have left, I should have just stayed back, anyone else could have filled in for me here. I shouldn’t have left.”

“You had to,” Ray said, which shocked me because I forgot for a second that he was there, “You were gonna lose it too, don’t feel bad, you were right to go.”  
“She can’t be on her own though! God, I’m an idiot, I didn’t think this through.”

“Hey, we’re just gonna call my mom, and we’ll see what she can do, okay?” I just nod. Patrick and Ray get me up, I think I’ll be fine. Ray breaks off and Patrick takes me back to one of the vans. He calls his mom. After a few he hangs up.

“She said that she was gonna go down and check in and make sure she’s okay, and that she might try to get her into a psychiatric ward or something until you get back, okay?” I nod. I’m still fazed. All I can see is my mom bleeding while trying to clean up broken dishes and cursing my name. It’s not a good image, and I’m on the verge of crying again. God, this is all my fault. I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have left without knowing she was in good hands, without someone there to look out for her. My dad would be so disappointed in me. It’s like Patrick can tell I’m still not okay and he just wraps his arms around me, rubbing his hand on my back. I can hear him humming. It’s not something he does often, but I like it when he does. It doesn’t take long for me to be out.

Brendon POV

I’m gnawing my lip. Ray told me that Dallon broke down when I got back from helping pack up, since all I saw was Patrick and him stumbling back towards the vans. I’m nervous. I know Dallon’s a little fragile, especially since the fingers incident back during winter break. I’m just hoping that it’s not bad.

“What happened?” I interrogate Patrick quietly the second he gets back to the group of us. The audience space has finally cleared out.

“His mom called and it was ugly.” He fills in the rest. I just stand there, my eyes flicking back to the van. Damn, we were in the clear.

“He okay or--?”

“No, I don’t think so, but he’s out now, we’ll see how he is in the morning.” I shake my head.

“I thought we might be done with this.”

“So did I, so did he, but…” I nod.

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“Does that mean we’ve gotta quit early?”

“No, my mom’s going down to see what’s up, make sure she’s okay.” Patrick starts wringing his hands.

“Okay.” I take in a deep breath. The other guys have taken notice of Patrick’s return without Dallon. They’re all wearing looks of concern.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Ray asks. Patrick shrugs.

“I think so, but I don’t know.”

“What happened?” Frank asks, stubbing his cigarette out and crushing it. I look at Patrick, not sure if I should be saying anything. It’s not my problem to tell. Patrick shrugs like he doesn’t know what to do.

“Dallon’s got some issues with his mom and it’s not a good situation over all,” I say tentatively.

“What do you mean?” Jon asks in a concerned tone. He’s like the much older brother who makes sure that we’re all functional people. And currently, one of us isn’t.  
“Um,” I start to say, looking back at Patrick, hoping that he’d help me out here.

“His dad died a year ago and his mom’s been in a bad place since. She called him and it got pretty, um, terrifying.” There’s a lot of concerned looks and such.

“You guys don’t have to cut early do you?” Pete asks.

“No, we’ll stay on.”

“You know what?” Jon says. “I think this is your breakdown week.”

“Our what?” Ryan and I both ask at the same time.

“Breakdown week. Most tours have them, it’s the week where everything goes to shit basically. They don’t come this late typically, but it happens.”

“We’ve never had one of those before,” Pete says.

“Same,” Mikey adds.

“I said most tours, god.”

“I guess we just gotta wait it out then?” I ask.

“Yup.”

Patrick POV

It’s been three days or so since the phone scare. Dallon’s mom’s fine, my mom goes and checks on her everyday. She hadn’t hurt herself. Dallon seems fine now. And I guess it helps that tonight’s the Breezy meet-up night. Brendon and I haven’t stopped giving him crap for it. Friendly crap at least.

“You owe me clean up time after this. I’m covering you tonight,” I say, hopping back into the van so we can get back to the venue. We got put on food run, and I hate being short, these things are too tall for me.

“I know, I know,” Dallon says, climbing into shotgun.

“And if you’re sneaking into vans late, you know everyone’s gonna give you more crap, right?”

“Yeah, didn’t think I had a choice on that.”

“Which part, the sneaking into vans or the getting of crap?” He laughs.

“Yes.” I pull out of the parking lot.

“Oi.” He shoves me. I laugh.

“She’s my girlfriend and I haven’t seen her for a year.”

“Told you you’d get more crap.” He shakes his head, laughing.

“I know.”

“You’re sure you’re okay? I know that the last you saw her was--” He holds up a hand to shush me.

“I’m fine, okay? I would’ve told you if I wasn’t.” I nod, though I know Dallon. He probably wouldn’t.

Dallon POV

I can see her in the audience, but she’s too busy looking around everywhere else to notice me looking at her. Also I’m not onstage, but she could probably see me. Now I’m nervous. We’ve already performed, but I wasn’t looking for her then, I was focused on the show, which was pretty decent, I’d say. Brendon did play my keyboard for a second, but it was more along the lines of funny than annoying.

“Dude, stop standing here and go talk to her. She’s here to see you,” Spencer says, coming up behind me.

“I know, I just don’t know what to say to her. The last time I saw her was,” I don’t finish my sentence. Spencer knows. I turn around and face him, leaning against the wall.

“Just say hi. You’ve been texting her for weeks now, how hard can it be?” I raise my eyebrows. “Okay, okay, little insensitive, but if you really like her so much, it won’t be hard.” I sigh, nodding and looking back out at the audience, where I can see her again.

“You’re right, it shouldn’t be hard. I’m nervous, which makes no sense. I can perform in front of hundreds of kids every night but talking to one girl is terrifying.” Spencer smiles.

“You got this.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Now, go before she leaves.” I nod and go.

It’s packed out here, people tripping over other people, drunk people, screaming people, a lot of people. I’m waiting for someone to stop me and say something, because you know, I’m the lead singer for one of the bands, but they’re all focused on Razors, who’s on stage right now. I’m weaving my way back, hoping I remember where she is. I think I might be close when--

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“No, no you’re fine,” I say to whoever I just ran into. The both of us step back from each other.

“Oh, hey stranger.” It’s Breezy. I let all my breath out.

“Hey.” She’s still pretty, brown hair falling over her shoulders. I’m kinda just staring at her.

“You’re still such an awkward duck,” she says, hugging me. I hug her back, laughing. And I can smell her hair. It’s smells really good.

“Some things never change.” I let her go.

“Very true.”

“So um, wanna get out of here for a bit?”

“Don’t you have a curfew?”

“Yeah, but it’s a pretty flexible one.” I take her hand, gently pulling her out of the crowd.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Okay, that was stupid, I’ve jinxed it now.” We both laugh. I shake my head.

“I don’t think you can.”

Joe POV

I drag back the last of the cables, looking around for anyone else back here. When I find no one, I head out. There’s some argument going on when I get outside, I can hear it. I find Mikey standing just outside the venue.

“Dude, do you know what’s going on?”

“No idea,” he says. “Wanna find out?”

“Yeah.” We walk towards where the vans are, the argument getting louder. I can’t really make sense of what’s being said. Then I hear a shriek and we both run. I’m just hoping I don’t see someone dead. I’m not all that relieved when we can see what’s going on. There’s Patrick and Frank, there’s strangers, and I think I can see Andy in the back, though I’m not certain on that. But either way, someone’s throwing punches.

“Whoa, whoa, what the hell guys!” Mikey shouts, trying to get in between the punching guy and Frank and Patrick, but I pull him back. He’s not getting in the middle of this one, the last fight we got into he was pretty bloody and Gerard got pretty much strung up on a flagpole by their mother. We move behind Patrick and Frank, pulling them back from whoever it is. Andy appears by my side. Patrick breaks free of my grip, his breathing uneven. I can see some blood sliding down the side of his forehead but it doesn’t look to bad. I turn to face the guys, who I can finally see. There isn’t much to them, the only thing I really notice is a shit ton of piercings and one of them has a badass neck tattoo that licks the edge of their face. But either way, they look like jerks.

“Why are you guys even fighting?” I ask, trying to be as calm as possible. I really, really don’t like fights. They make me nervous.

“This fucking asshat mouthed me off and I will break his fucking face!” Frank shouts, trying to go after the guy again, making Mikey strain to hold him back. He breaks free, but Andy’s quick to catch him.

“No fucking way are you fighting people. Last time was bad enough,” he says in an agitated tone.

“Awh, look at the pussy, boys,” the guy with the badass neck tattoo says with a sneer. I raise my eyebrows, backing up a bit. Andy looks away, though I think I can see something sparking in his face. Mikey and I share a nervous look. They all start saying more shit, mostly the word pussy over and over again, taunting him. Eventually he lets go of Frank, getting up close to Neck Tattoo. He punches him straight in the gut, making him double over, and then he upthrusts the heel of his hand into his nose. There’s a crazy loud crack and a shit ton of blood. I just stare in shock. Andy, who is probably one of the nicest guys I know, just broke someone’s nose. I’m not the only one, Neck Tattoo’s posse and the rest of us are all just looking at Neck Tattoo, who’s practically on the ground, and Andy, who takes a few steps back from his casualty.

“Think next time before you call someone a pussy, because you never know who can take someone out in two hits,” is all he has to say. “Let’s go.” And we all follow him in shock. Frank not so much, but there’s a decent amount present on his face.

“Why were you there?” I ask Patrick. He seems like the kind of guy who would avoid confrontation, not help start it.

“Me and Frank were going back to the vans and that guy was a real asshole to him. So Frank said some shit to tell him off, but the guy just got pissed and started to jostle Frank around, so I hit him, and then it was a four-on-two-beat-em-up situation,” he shrugs in reply.

“Dude, you started a fight.”

“Not the first time.” I blink. Okay then.

“Jon is going to murder us all,” Mikey mutters.

“Ah, but it’ll be an honorable death,” Frank replies, kicking a rock out of his way, but I think he’s only doing it for the aesthetic.

“Will it? Will it really?” Andy asks, still a little pissed.

“When did you learn to take someone out like that? You’re like, the nicest person I know,” I say.

“You grow up in the right place and hang around the right scene, you pick up a few things. Not that I like fights, I’ve just been in enough of them.”

“What scene?” Mikey asks. I do realize that we don’t really know much about Andy. Or Razors in general. Like we know their personalities, but we don’t really know them. Not like they quite know us either.

“Midwest hardcore. Milwaukee, Chicago, et cetera. Drummed around for a while, did a hell of a lot more than a few stupid things, met Pete at a show, met this loser a few months later, started Razors, found Ray a year later or something like that, and the rest is history.”

“Oh okay.”

“Dude, why did no one tell me I’m bleeding?” Patrick asks, staring at his hand.

“I didn’t even know you were bleeding,” Frank says, actually, Frank mutters. I don’t say anything in hopes to not get in trouble because I forgot about it. “That guy did get you pretty badly.”

“Yeah. You good though? No blood?”

“I don’t think so, do you see any?”

“Ummm, no I don’t think so.”

“‘Kay.”

“We should probably patch you up before Jon finds out that you’re hurt,” Mikey says, taking a sharp right up to Our Anathema van. He opens one of the doors and digs around, talking to someone that sounds like Spencer, though it might be Ryan, I can’t tell from this distance. He comes back with paper towels and tape.

“Best you found?” I ask.

“Best we have.”

“Welcome to the road,” Andy says. Mikey tosses me the paper towels and I rip some off.

“Do you want to bandage yourself or do you want me to considering I can see your injury.” I put sarcastic inflection on injury because I’m a jerk like that. Actually, I just put sarcasm in that whole sentence. I’m really a jerk. Though I’m still not as much of a jerk as Mikey is.

“You can, I don’t really care, as long as I can get Jon off my back, because if he sees this,” Patrick gestures toward his head and shrugs. I nod and wipe off the current blood streaks. Once it’s all clean, there’s this huge bruise and a bloody cut from the punch or whatever breaking skin. I shudder and start making layers to cover it up. How he couldn’t tell beats me.

“Mikey, you never gave me the tape!”

“Oh shit, sorry,” he shouts back and tosses it to me.

“Dude, you’re fucked,” I say to Patrick.

“How?”

“You have a bruise on the side of your head that all black and blue that’s the size of a golf ball. And it’s bleeding from the middle. There’s no way you’re getting off easy.” He sighs as I finish taping him up.

“Great.”

Dallon POV

I quick look at my phone to check the time. My eyes widen and I sit up, praying that someone left the van unlocked because holy-shit-when-did-it-become-2:30-am just sank in quick. Breezy looks up at me.

“Don’t tell me--”

“I have to go, curfew.” I look down at her, still wrapped in my arms, still no clothes on. She has a bit of a disappointed look on her face. I knew this would happen, which is why we should have waited. Waited until the tour was over. Waited until my mom was stable. Waited until I was stable. I have my girlfriend back, but I don’t want to walk away and risk losing her again because I am a needy, melodramatic asshole. She sighs.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Do you think I want to go?”

“Yes.” I look at her, one eyebrow raised. We just had sex, does she really think I want to leave her?

“Okay, kinda. But not really. If I could do tour and stay here at the same time, I would. But I can’t.”

“And you already made the commitment to tour. I get it.”

“I’m gonna come back, you know that right?”

“I do. But how is this relationship going to work?”

“I don’t really know. I can’t leave my mom right now, you know that.”

“And I can’t leave here right now either, and you know that.”

“Looks like it’s gonna be long distance hell.”

“Yeah.” I kiss the top of her head.

“I’ll text you or call you later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Tell your mom the next time I see her hi and that I hope she feels better.”

“Yeah.” I get up and get dressed. Then I kiss her for real, my hand tilting her chin up.

“Bye awkward duck.”

“Bye.”

The van door’s unlocked, which I wasn’t too sure if it was going to be. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it wasn’t, my band likes to give me crap all the time.

“Oh, look who finally showed up,” Patrick says, ripping an earbud out.

“Yeah. Why are you up? It’s 2:30am. And what happened to your head?”

“Fight. And I’m not really all that tired. I sleep later.” I nod, not too convinced.

“What fight?”

“Long story short, some guy was giving Frank shit so I started a fight with him.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I mean, not really. I’ve done stupider things, like start fights with worse people.”

“Still an idiot. What did Jon say?”

“He didn’t. He doesn’t know yet.”

“You’re screwed.”

“I know that already. However, do you know you’re screwed?”

“I’m not?”

“Oh yes you are.”

“How?”

“Dude, 2:30am.” I roll my eyes. “So?”

“So what?”

“How’d it go?”

“Well, we’re back together. And don’t give me that face.” He laughs.

“Before Brendon asks in the worst way possible, did you two--?” I blink a couple times before realizing what he means.

“Oh, um, yeah we did.” He shoots me this smile (smirk maybe?) that doesn’t look all that friendly. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, I know what you’re thinking, and do not!” He starts giggling, so I smack him on the arm. “Oi.”

“I’m kidding I’m kidding. Good for you though? I don’t know, I just didn’t want Brendon to--”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Shut up it’s too early for this shit,” Brendon mumbles from the back. We both start giggling quietly.

“Sorry Bren,” I apologize.

 

“2:30am? You are an idiot,” Jon chastises me first thing in the morning. I shrug, holding an eye roll back. Jon is a nice guy and I know he’s just trying to make sure we’re all okay, but sometimes he’s overbearing.

“I’m not as much of an idiot as some people,” I say, feeling kind of bad about ratting out Patrick and Frank and whoever else was involved with that fight. Patrick, who just came out of the van, shoots me a dangerous look. I shrug, I wasn’t interested in getting destroyed for sleeping with my girlfriend.

“Wait, what?”

“Um, we kinda got into a fight last night,” Frank mutters sheepishly. “S’no big deal, there wasn’t really any injuries.”

“Except for the other guy,” Joe says.

“Yeah, the other guy.”

“And um, the side of my head maybe,” Patrick adds. I’m impressed that he’s not trying to hide it.

“Okay, what the hell? What did you do?” And they all spill everything; Frank, Patrick, Joe, Mikey, and Andy, who I was really surprised by. Jon’s face stays pretty consistent through the whole thing.

“I was gonna yell at you, but I guess there’s no real reason too.” A wave of relief passes over the five of them. Patrick comes and sits next to me and Brendon.

“Fights and sleeping with girls, what’s happened to my friends? I don’t think I recognize the two of you,” Brendon says.

“Shut up,” Patrick mumbles.

“And you knew that was coming, right?” I say.

“Well, yeah, I just, yeah. My mom called me last night and said that she doesn’t care what I do with my life, so I guess I just have to make it through one more year of school and then I’m done.”

“Yay!”

“Though hah, I’m all done.”

“Shut up, Patrick Stump, or I’ll make sure that bruise has a twin.”

“No thanks.”

Patrick POV

I’m watching from the side of the stage as Our Anathema wraps up their set. I can’t believe there’s only two weeks left of this. I’ve gotten so used to this rhythm, sleeping in the vans, weird schedules, late nights late mornings, zero privacy, waking up in a new city, a new time zone. These last two and a half months have been torturously good. I hear some scream from the audience, but I don’t think much of it. But Gerard’s voice falters a little bit as he says the goodbye. They all get off stage, Gerard going quickly past me, Mikey following him closely. Joe’s next, cursing.

“What’s that all about?” I ask, following him back. The guys from Razors go to get on.

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m gonna find out.” He sets his guitar down and we follow the back of Mikey’s head, turning the corner. We keep our distance Gerard’s on the floor, knees pulled up against his chest, back against the wall in the corridor. Mikey crouching in front of him, talking to him quietly. 

“It’s gonna be okay, you’re not in danger.” Gerard just shakes his head.

“What was it?”

“Knife.” Mikey looks up at the two of us. I bite my lip. This is so not good. He turns his attention back to Gerard.

“You’re okay, Gee. Everything’s good.” Gerard shakes his head again.

“Look at your arms.” He does, pushing the sleeves up on his shirt. “There’s no blood, see? You’re not hurt right now. You’re okay, Gee, you’re okay.” He nods a little dazedly. Then he hugs Mikey quickly and gets up, running off. He brushes past me, and I watch him go. Mikey sighs and walks over to us, picking his bass up off the floor.

“He okay?” Joe asks.

“I fucking hope so. You know, the entire tour, no issues on his part. But the last bit and this happens. Why would anyone bring a fucking knife to a show anyways?” We both just shake our heads. I suddenly can’t be back here, my body’s telling me to get out. I leave, Mikey and Joe not even noticing.

Gerard POV

My back’s on the pavement outside one of the vans. I debate about pulling a cigarette out, but then I think that it’s not such a smart idea. I also know that I should quit smoking them, but I never do. I’m just glad the panic’s gone. Only now it’s been replaced by hollowness. Fucking triggers. Who the hell brings a knife to a show? I love Razors, but some of their fans are awful.

I’m thinking about every other time I’ve been triggered. I’m thinking about why I’m getting triggered. I used to cut. The scars are there, it’s known, but I keep thinking about the pain, the sting later, everything I felt then, everything I feel (or don’t feel) now. It’s a little overwhelming. I stare up at the sky, my head feeling numb.

I can hear footsteps slowly getting closer. Someone lays down next to me. I don’t move my line of vision from the sky above me.

“Hey, are you okay?” It’s Patrick. Sweet, ignorant Patrick.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’ll go away eventually.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t ask. I’m grateful. We sit in silence for a long time. It’s pretty out here, in the silence, where there are no knives or loud things. Instead there are stars partially covered by clouds and bright moons and pretty boys next to you that you’re too afraid to say you like. I can hear the last set, but it’s all muffled, partly from the distant, and probably from my own head stuff. I shift my eyes from the sky to Patrick. There’s a second of overlap with our lines of vision as his eyes quickly flick upward. I smile. Maybe he does like me. It’s just that he’s so much younger than me. Well, not really. I’m almost 22. But he’s, what, 18? Yeah, that’s kind of a jump. He looks back over at me, and then I’m the one flicking eyes around. I wish I wasn’t such a coward. You know what? Fuck fear. Fuck anxiety. Fuck worry. I’m gonna say something before it’s too late.

“Hey Patrick?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I tell you something?” I’m looking at him again. He looks over at me, squinting his eyes a little in confusion.

“Sure.”

“I-I like you. Like would totally make out with you like you.” There’s a bit of a blush creeping across my face, I can feel it. And I can see, even in the semi dark, that there’s one on Patrick. He smiles. And then he laughs.

“No way, you don’t like me.”

“Yes I do!”

“Nuh-uh, I like you! No one ever has mutual feelings for me.” Oh my god. He does like me.

“That’s utter bullshit, my friend.”

“Apparently.” Silence. “Can I-um.”

“Can you what?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Can I kiss you?” The hollowness is slowly being replaced with fuzziness, like an internal giggle.

“You don’t have to ask.”

“Well maybe I want to.” He leans into me, his lips on mine. It’s a really simple kiss, but it’s so good. And it’s over in a span of like ten seconds. The fuzziness grows, I feel like it’s gonna start seeping out my ears or something. The two of us are smiling. I’m close to laughing. It’s interesting how the right person can start to erase the horrible things. I scooch closer to him so that our shoulders are touching, and so are our fingers. And we stay like that. I have to keep looking over and at our hands to convince myself that this is real. It’s so quiet, until--

“You owe me 50 bucks Brendon!”


	9. Please Don’t Tell Me This Is Goodbye

Brendon POV

Two weeks goes by quick. Hell, two months went by quick. I drop my bag in the back of Patrick’s (mom’s) car, which is sitting there. My parents were supposed to come get me, but shit happens. I go back to the group to say goodbyes. I catch Patrick and Gerard on the fringes talking quietly, not a whole lot of space between them. I smile a little. In all honesty, I’m glad that Patrick found someone. I look around for someone who isn’t busy and find a Ryan Ross.

“I guess this is goodbye then dude.” I say.

“Yeah. Though it’s not forever, we’ve got that Halloween show, right?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

“Yeah man.” We hug. I circle through the rest of the group. I’m gonna miss this, aren’t I? I don’t think I’d want to do it all the time, but I loved it, performing for all those people. I don’t want it to be over yet. Can I sleep for five more minutes so the dream can last a little longer?

“Brendon? Hello?”

“Huh? What?” I shake the clouds out of my head.

“You coming man?” Patrick asks.

“Yeah, sorry I’m--”

“Out of it, I get it.” We head back towards his (mom’s) car.

“You know what?” I look over at him.

“What?”

“I don’t think I want this to be over just yet.”

“I don’t think I do either.”

“I feel like I just got used to it and then it was over.”

“I don’t know how much I even remember.”

“It’s like a whirlwind and I can only pick out specific things.”

“Yeah.”

“Home?”

“Home.”

Patrick POV

Pete’s driveway is full of cars, snow dusting one of them, and the rest of the surroundings. I recognize one of them, Gerard’s. So he is here already. I duck inside.  
I see absolute chaos. Pretty much what I expected, I think some of them are already drunk or headed that way, but I just hope that Gerard stays as far away from the alcohol as possible. I can’t find him, but I spot a pretty drunk Pete and a possibly drunk Joe. I head their way.

“Hey ‘Trick! Merry Christmas fucker,” Pete greets me, words slurring.

“Merry Christmas. Hey Joe.”

“Hey man,” Joe responds, Pete getting distracted by someone shouting his name.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I kinda miss hanging out with you.”

“Maybe like after this party?”

“Maybe tomorrow if I’m not too hung over?”

“Maybe. Oh, have you seen Gerard?” Joe shoots me a smirk, and I swat his arm. He laughs.

“Yeah, he’s back there.”

“Thanks.”

I head towards the back wall, saying “Merry Christmas” to the ones that notice me. I know most of the people here, basically just the bands and such. Gerard’s distracted by something so I greet him by sliding my hand into his. He snaps out of whatever he was doing and his whole face lights up as he smiles when he realizes it’s me.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey.”

“Some party, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I just got here and I’ve already seen enough drunks to just want to leave.”

“Yeah.” I remember why I was so eager to see him.

“I’ve got a gift for you.” He looks over at me a little worried.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I don’t have one for you.”

“I don’t need anything. Just, I’d rather give it to you somewhere else, maybe somewhere quieter?”

“Yeah sure.” He looks at me a little weird. We kinda wander around, looking for an empty room, and finally end up in the upstairs bathroom. I hope no one needs this, and god, Pete’s house is huge. I wonder if it’s secretly his mom’s and he just won't tell us. I shut the door and turn back to Gerard.

“So, my gift comes in two parts. The first part is this, because I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve gotten to do this.” I kiss him, eyes falling shut slowly. He starts kissing me back, coaxing my mouth open. My tongue slides in and it’s possibly one of the best kisses I’ve ever had. He tastes like he did the last time I saw him a month and a half ago, only the cigarette flavor not as strong as it was then. My hands are on his face, and his are on my waist. Gerard turns just a little bit and steps forward, pressing me against the edge of the sink. I pull my tongue back and unhook our lips, breaking the kiss. He smiles at me.

“Okay, that was pretty damn good, I don’t see why there’s a second part to this gift.” I laugh and take my hands back.

“Second part, isn’t exactly a gift I guess, but I’m counting it as one. You know, we’ve been seeing each other on and off, but that has a lot to do with scheduling, and we’ve been in this...thing...since the last few weeks of tour, and it’s driving me nuts, so I’m just gonna ask you. Do you wanna be my boyfriend and make this a real fucking relationship instead of a thing?” Gerard half smiles, pushing his now shorter, choppier hair out of his eyes.

“Hmm, well, I’d have to think about it, I’ll get back to you on that in 3-5 business days--” I shove him. He starts laughing. “Of course I wanna be your boyfriend. Hell, I’d like to scream it.” I laugh. “Patrick Stump is my boyfriend!” The both of us are smiling goofily.

“I’ll scream with you. Gerard Way is my boyfriend and all those teenage girls will just have to suck it up!”

“Nice. You know, you can call me Gee now if you want to.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Gee.” The nickname’s so unfamiliar in my mouth. I’m just so used to Mikey and only Mikey calling him that.

“We should probably go back downstairs,” he says, his voice trailing off a little.

“Yeah, probably.” He turns around and opens the door, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together. He starts to walk out the door, but I stop him.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” And down we go.

 

I suddenly realize it.

“Dude, when did Brendon leave?” I ask Dallon.

“Like an hour ago or something, some girl named Sarah hanging off of him.”

“Where’d he pick her up?”

“I don’t know, I think Ryan introduced them.”

“Probably did,” Gerard says, leaning back against the wall. “Ryan knows enough girls. Probably’s slept with ‘em all too.”

“You know, before tour, I would have questioned that. Now, not really,” Dallon sighs. I agree. I mean, Ryan’s a cool guy, he’s like a brother or something (literally all of Our Anathema has become the second family), but he gets around.

“Every band has a resident hustler.” He shrugs.

“I don’t know, who is our resident hustler? It’s not me, I don’t think it’s you either, and Brendon has never been that good with girls.”

“Brendon has a Capri-Sun in his mouth half the time, of course he’s not that good with girls. He’s not that good with guys either, I tried once and gave up,” I say. Gerard gives me a look. “Not like that. We were at some party and he wanted to talk to this guy and I tried to get him to but he didn’t.” He nods.

“Okay fine, most bands,” he corrects himself. He spots someone else across the room and goes to talk to them. Dallon and I lapse into silence.

“You know, I think it’s funny,” Dallon says after a bit.

“What?”

“How much changes in a year.” I give him a look. “Think about it! Where were we a year ago?”

“Your mom’s basement?”

“Yeah. A year ago, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere in life.”

“A year ago I was some high school kid who wanted to be a punk.”

“A year ago I was fucking sad.”

“A year ago the band was gonna die out.”

“A year ago I ripped my fingers open.”

“A year ago I was bored.”

“A year ago I didn’t have Breezy.”

“A year ago I didn’t have a boyfriend.” I find him on the opposite side of the room and catch his eye. He smiles at me, and I don’t know if he knows I can see the blush on his neck. And it’s cute.

“Wait, you guys made it official?”

“Yeah, like an hour and a half ago or something upstairs in one of the bathrooms.” Dallon raises an eyebrow. “Not like that, jerk. I couldn’t hear him over all the people down here.” He nods.

“Well congrats.”

“Thanks.” Silence. “All this talk of what we were makes me think, what are we now?”

“Indie rockers with lives and an album dropping in a few weeks?”

“Nah, I still feel like a nerd.” He laughs.

“I don’t think you ever lose the nerd title.”

“Once a nerd, always a nerd?”

“Yeah, something like that.” More silence. “All in all, this was not what I thought my life was gonna turn out like a year ago.”

“Definitely not. I figured that right now, I’d be some college student pursuing some degree that was gonna get me nowhere in life. But I’m not sad, I don’t think I would ever have wanted that.”

“Same. I feel like if my life were to go anywhere else, I wouldn’t be this happy. And that’s kind of sad to think about.”

“Life’s funny like that.”

“Yeah. It really is.”


End file.
